The Ice Will Burn
by Alisard
Summary: Nika the ranger/shaman, Moos the gnome wizard, and the Yakfolk dragon shaman Gant Du Roche Grise must save their subarctic homeland of Unnr from an undead snow elf wizard who is bent on the destruction of all life in the frozen wasteland.


**THE ICE WILL BURN**

CHAPTER ONE

Moos Futtrup sat in his favorite chair, at his favorite table in the Last Chance Inn. Directly behind him, the fire pit blazed, keeping his back nice and toasty. Even though he sat snuggled in a fur coat fashioned from the pelt of a frost wolf, he was far to cold to sit any further away from the fire. The comforting, musky fragrance of the wood smoke from the blaze mingled with the smells of hot food, tobacco, and sweaty men. The crack and scatter of the crackling blaze merged with the blustering wind outside and the agonized creaking of the battered building. There was one hell of a storm brewing out there.

The gnome leaned over the table, a wooden mug full of Patya Marko's best ale at his right hand. In front of him lay a piece of parchment, on which the gnome scribbled with a stick of graphite. He wrote slowly, in his best penmanship, for this was an Official Document. He needed to recreate his List of Services, for the last one, which had hung by a nail from the wall across from the entrance, had been torn down and trampled during a bar fight a few nights before.

_Idiots,_ snarled the gnome to himself. _If they want to break each other's heads,_ _why can't they do it outside, like sensible folk?_

The gnome shook his head irritably. Speaking of idiots, the other patrons in the cold, smoky, dimly lit common room were far too loud and boisterous for his liking. Normally he wouldn't have minded, but tonight, he was trying to concentrate on something important. He glanced up from his work, to grace the patrons with his fiercest scowl, his slate-colored face puckering up like a dried apple. It was a fitting analogy, since the gnome's head was perfectly round and smooth. His enormous, round, blue eyes, which always looked on the verge of popping out of his head, bulged out of his skull even further, it that were possible.

The men around him didn't notice his glare, or if they did, they ignored it. Moos always scowled, so it didn't merit any special notice. The gnome sighed raggedly, his fingers fiddling with the long, white goatee that grew from the middle of his chin. Usually, this thin beard hung down to his stomach, but now it tangled around his stubby fingers.

The gnome slammed his writing stick down on the table. Reaching up, he rubbed the top of his bald head. Tattoos of various glyphs and sigils covered his skull, denoting his status as a wizard. He specialized in red magic, one of the eight schools of the arcane arts. Red magic manipulated the primal energies of life in order to create a desire effect. Its spells were flashy, powerful, and sometimes dangerous.

Moos took off his lenses, held them at arm's length, and withered them with a particularly nasty scowl. Wiping them on his fur coat, he placed them back on his face. The lenses had a name, as did most of the wizard's magical items. He had dubbed these Moos' Spectacular Lenses of Magic Detection, and he had crafted them himself. Besides improving his vision, they allowed him to detect the auras of magic around him. The silver ring set with a ruby gem he wore on his right hand also had a name: Moos' Fantastic Ring of Deflection. He had not crafted this item, since he wasn't yet a powerful enough arcanist to do so. He had bought this from a peskie sorcerer who had spent some time in Wolf's End before heading back to the warm lands to the south. The peskie, in turn, had bought it from the renowned magicsmith Vigdis Hjordis, a dwarf of Evindr, who lived to the north with the other dwarfs in their cold, dark caverns carved into the side of the Scarp of Ingvr.

Moos glanced at his ring, trying to remember the sorcerer's name. _Shark? Stark? Snark. Snark Weatherwhistle. Stupid name for a peskie. Stupid name for anybody, come to think of it._

To anyone else, the ring just looked like a finely crafted piece of jewelry. But through his enchanted lenses, Moos saw the ring enveloped in a faint silver aura. It was the aura of silver, or protection magic.

The wizard thought of the peskie with envy. He was long gone from Wolf's End. Long gone from the miserable cold weather, the snow, the gray skies, the biting wind, the degenerates who frequented the outpost. Moos took a swig of his ale, sweeping his gaze disdainfully over the rowdy patrons. The citizens of Wolf's End were mostly burly humans, with scraggly, unwashed beards and bad teeth. But an assortment of other races called the outpost home as well, mostly some renegade dwarfs and inquisitive peskies. There was even a brooding hobgoblin skulking about somewhere. He was a logger.

_Tough job,_ thought Moos. _But what else is there? Fishing? Trapping? Either way, you're outside freezing to death. I don't know why anybody with half a brain would want to live here, but they do. Idiots._

Of course, the gnome knew the reason. People didn't live in Wolf's End because they wanted to. They lived here because they had to live somewhere, and this place was as good as any. Most of the folks in town, if not all of them, had a story to tell. But most, if not all, kept those stories to themselves. The trading outpost of Wolf's End was a haven for degenerates, exiles, loners, escaped convicts, or anyone else who had a past they were trying to forget. It was a tough town, full of tough people. They had to be, to survive this far north, in a land where winter lasted nine months of the year, and summer was brief and all too quickly missed. The folks of Wolf's End were too busy trying to survive and scrape out a meager living. They didn't have time for crime. But whenever a particularly unsavory character came to town and started trouble, the Knights of the Noble Order of the Drakes of Unnr (or more simply, Knights of the Drake) dealt with him swiftly and without mercy. One of their high-ranking members was Lord of Wolf's End, Sir Gallant Du Roche Grise.

_Good man,_ thought the wizard. _For a human, anyway._

Moos realized that he was letting his mind wander. And that wasn't getting his price list done. Sighing, he took another pull from his mug, set it down with a bang, then picked up his writing stick and bent over the parchment. His lips puckered as he read what he had already put down:

_MOOS FUTTRUP_

_WIZARD EXTRAORDINARE_

_SERVICES RENDERED:_

_THE FOLLOWING INCANTATIONS:_

_MOOS' AMAZING MAGICAL AURA DETECTION_

_MOOS' FABULOUS LIGHT CONJURATION_

_MOOS' STUPENDOUS (AND TIMESAVING) HELPING HAND_

_MOOS' WONDERFUL ITEM REPAIR_

_MOOS' UNBELIEVABLE INVISIBLE BUTTLER_

_MOOS' ASTOUNDING MAGICAL ITEM IDENTIFIER_

_MOOS' SENSATIONAL LOST OBJECT FINDER_

_THE ABOVE INCANTATIONS CAN ALSO BE WRITTEN AS A ONE-TIME USE SCROLL, BREWED AS A POTION, OR CREATED AS A RECHARGABLE WAND._

_OTHER INCANTATIONS AVAILABLE UPON REQUEST_

_I ALSO DO PORTRAITS AND PAINTINGS UPON COMMISSION_

_MY HOUSE IS UNDER THE NORTHWEST TOWER, THE ONE WITH THE ARCANE (WIZARD) MARK ABOVE THE DOOR_

The gnome continued to frown at the parchment. He hadn't yet written down the prices. He was going to have to raise them again, to make any money at all. Business was always bad, but the past year had been one of the worse ones in the twenty-two years the gnome had lived here. His client base was mostly adventurers who came to town seeking gold or monsters, and adventuring seemed to have gone out of fashion in the past year. The knights were still his best customers. They were the only ones with any real money, except for the adventurers. But Moos he never made enough gold to do more than scrape by from year to year.

_If only we'd found gold up in the mountains. If there even was any gold up there to be found. I'd be rich right now, with my own marble tower in some warm city, far, far, away from this wretched, cold, abysmal pit of a town!_

The gnome wondered if he should leave the inn and go across the street to the Skum Bucket Tavern but he quickly decided against it. It was quieter over there, but that was because the ale was terrible. He then thought about going home, but it was too cold. His fireplace was far too small, and he was miserly with his wood. It was better to put up with some noise when you were getting good ale and a warm fire in the bargain. Besides, the gnome was waiting for some friends.

"Damn it all to the effin Underworld," muttered Moos in his high-pitched rasp. He had felt the urge to utter something aloud, and this statement was as good as any, he figured. Not that anyone could have heard him, with all the ruckus.

The outside door suddenly blew open, and a gust of frigid wind and snow burst into the inn. The patrons shouted good-natured jibes at the person who entered.

"Shut the damn door! You're letting all the cold _out!_"

"It's colder than Pluto's ass out there!"

"Girl, don't you know yet how to keep the wind out when you come in!"

"Sorry," said the woman, slamming her lithe body into the door to shut it against the frigid wind. She wore a heavy white cloak over a wool coat, thick breeches, and sturdy white boots. The hood of the cloak obscured her face.

"Ah, the wanderer returns!" Patya Marko, the elderly, toothless dwarf and owner of the establishment, called out a greeting from behind the bar.

"Good evening, Master Marko."

"What'll it be tonight, m'lady?"

"Oh, the usual."

The woman made her way through the crowded room towards the table near the fireplace. Moos glanced up from his perusal of the parchment, his face screwed up in a grimace. His enchanted lenses detected the faint auras that emanated from her cloak and boots. The cloak glimmered with orange aura of the school of deception, whereas the boots emitted the yellow glow of the school of transformation.

"You're late, Nika!"

The woman chuckled. "By _your_ estimation, perhaps!"

Reaching up, Nika of Wolf's End pulled back the hood of her cloak and smiled at her friend. She was a plain looking woman, not beautiful, but not ugly either. Her hair was straight, brown, and wispy, her eyes blue and full of an inner fire. Her most striking feature was the purple port wine stain that covered the entire right side of her face. Some whispered behind her back that such a mark was a bad sign. Some demon had marked her as its own, for some dread and unknown purpose. Others said that such a mark was a good omen, that she was beloved of some god or goddess, and was destined for great deeds. Moos knew the truth of the matter, that it was just a rare discoloration of the skin pigmentation. Most of the townsfolk laughed at him whenever he tried to explain this to them, so he didn't bother anymore. It was one of those things you just got used to. The gnome hardly even noticed it himself anymore. True, the occasional newcomer to town would stop and gawk at her, but mostly people were accepting of her defect. Such was the nature of Wolf's End. It was a haven for those who fit in nowhere else. People were loath to judge, because they themselves wished to avoid judgment.

The gnome remembered his first impression of Wolf's End, all those many years ago. He had turned to his companions, and remarked, _it's a regular misfits club!_ And he had been right.

Nika sat down in a chair opposite the gnome, pulling off her snow-covered cloak and hanging it from another chair she dragged over to the side of the fireplace. She made herself comfortable, leaning back in her chair with her booted feet up on the table. From a pouch at her belt, she withdrew a smaller pouch, and laid it on the table. Opening the pouch, she took out some dark green tobacco and thin papers, and set to rolling herself a cig. It was her one vice.

"That stuff will kill you," muttered the wizard, now bent over his parchment, his pug nose nearly touching it. "It's that damn snoglin weed, isn't it? That stuff is poisonous, you know. The snoglins only trade it to us civilized folk in the hopes that it will rot our lungs. Not to mention the fact that you sometimes fall asleep with one of those effin things dangling from your lips. If you want to burn yourself up, it's your prerogative. But I don't want my home, and me as well, burning up with you. So while you're living with me, you have to abide by my rules. And as you well know, one of them is...no smoking."

Nika chuckled as she licked the paper and sealed its edges together. "Yes, father."

Moos scowled up at her, adjusting his lenses. "I'm not your father. But if I were..."

"You're close enough! The closest thing I've ever had to a father. You and Gavril. And you win. I won't smoke in the house anymore."

"That was too effin easy. I don't believe you."

Nika fixed the wizard with a stern gaze. "You have my word."

"Well now. Well, well, well." Moos tugged at his goatee, then took a huge swig of his ale.

"I'll stop smoking in the house..." Nika drawled.

"Oh, here it comes!"

"When you stop saying _eff_ this and _eff _that, every other word. It's embarrassing!"

"Nika, you know I don't like you swearing, either!"

She laughed heartily. "So I can't smoke, or swear, but trekking the wilds of the Gelid Wastes is perfectly acceptable! And how old am I this year? Twenty? You're so funny, Moos!"

"Well, that's completely different. Out there, you've got your spirit friend looking after you. What is it, a beaver?"

"A badger, Moos! Not a beaver! Don't be silly!"

"Whatever." The gnome snorted, shook his head, and went back to his writing. His mind began wandering again, back to the day, more than fourteen years ago, when he had first met Nika.

He had gone to the Warm Arms Inn, which was really a brothel, until the knights finally shut it down. The gnome was dropping off some potions he had made for the brothel's owner, an enterprising ex-lumberjack named Kolya, or some such nonsense. As he concluded his business, he had noticed a little human girl gawking at him with her big blue eyes.

"What? What are you staring at?"

She had just smiled and laughed. "You're a funny little man!"

Moos had stormed off in an indignant rage, but over the next few weeks, he had found himself thinking more and more about the strange little girl. It had been an easy matter to ask around to find out more about her. Wolf's End was a small outpost, with only about a thousand inhabitants. The wizard had learned that she was the child of a former prostitute named Inna who had died three years earlier of a lung condition. The child had stayed around the inn, naturally, since there was nowhere else to go. She had no father, or at least not one who had come forward to claim her. The whores did their best to care for her, when they felt so inclined. When she grew old enough, Kolya put her to work in the inn, as a waitress, maid, and general errand-girl.

Moos wasn't a sensitive gnome. He didn't really care for people. Some even labeled him a misanthropist. But even though he was a grouchy curmudgeon who didn't trust anyone as far as he could throw him or her, there was something about this little girl. He started dreaming about her, nearly every night. Being a wizard, he was sensitive to dreams and visions, and these were so potent that he was reluctant to ignore them. He marched right down to the Warm Arms and asked Kolya if he could take the little girl, to raise as his own. At first, the man had refused, but when the gnome offered to _buy_ her from him, and at a tidy sum to boot, the pimp simply couldn't refuse. So in a single night, the wizard had lost much of his gold, but gained a daughter. And no one was more surprised by this turn of events than he was.

He looked up at the girl, no, the woman, who sat across from him, boots up on the table, the hand-rolled cig hanging from her mouth as she blew smoke from her nostrils. Yes, she was twenty years old, wasn't she? Where did the time go? She had grown from a wee little thing into an accomplished ranger and spirit shaman. Moos was mighty proud of her, although he'd never openly admit it.

The gnome brought his mind back to the conversation.

"So, did you learn anything about Nikodim?"

Nika took another long draw from her cig, as Esfir, Patya's dumpy dwarf daughter, reached the table, bearing a tray. She set down a wooden mug of ale, and a wooden bowl full of thick and steaming seafood chowder.

"Thank you, Esfir." Nika smiled at the homely dwarf.

"You're much welcome, m'lady." The dwarf bobbed her head, then hustled back through the crowd.

The ranger looked over at the wizard. "Do you want some?"

Moos waved a stubby hand. "Naw, I already had some earlier. I'm stuffed.

Nika sat up straight, pulling her chair in close to the table. The gnome watched in disgust as she devoured the chowder, ravenously, stopping in between every few mouthfuls to take a drag from her cig.

"Oh, that must make it taste _so _much better!"

The woman grinned, blowing smoke across the table at the gnome. Moos coughed and waved his hands to clear away the smoke.

"Knock it off, woman! I don't want any of that snoglin-rot in my lungs!"

Nika shook her head in amusement, going at her dinner with renewed vigor. Moos put the finishing touches on his price list.

The ranger again assumed her relaxed stance, chair leaned back, boots up on the table. "I didn't learn much from the Tyndi," she said. "Gavril had been there, and had set out north for the Jagged Raze, but he didn't tell them exactly where he was headed. Or if he did, the message was...jumbled in translation."

"That's because those effin snow elfs are more idiotic than the idiots in Wolf's End!" Moos snarled in a low voice.

"Oh, stop. They've helped me, and Gavril, too, plenty of times in the past. You're just mad because they don't like you."

"They don't like anybody!" spluttered the wizard. "That is, nobody but you and Nikodim!"

"It took them a long time and lots of effort on our part to get them to trust us. But, alas, as I said, they were little help."

"Didn't that effin idiot Twix say that tomb was in the Raze? I wouldn't think it would be too hard to find."

Nika laughed. She always seemed to be laughing at the gnome. "You've been to the Raze, Moos. It's enormous! This crypt could be anywhere. You know how Twix wanders. Gavril didn't know exactly where it was. If he did, he would have told me, and it would make my job that much easier."

"Why don't you just ask that idiot Relkin, then?"

"That would be kind of hard, since she went south two weeks ago."

"Idiot. Traveling in winter. I hope a frost wolf freezes her into a block of ice."

Nika grinned. "She is a peskie, after all. You know how they get antsy staying in the same place for too long."

"Well, what in the world was she doing up north, anyway?"

Nika shrugged. "Visiting the library in Svirfheim, I guess. Now can we talk about Gavril?"

"Yes. Gavril." Moos cleared his throat. "He went up to the Raze and never came back. How long has he been gone?"

"Almost three weeks. It's not like him to be late."

"Well, maybe he went up to the Scarp, to visit the dwarfs, or something."

"He didn't. He would have told me. Gavril doesn't do things like that on a whim. No, something has happened to him, I'm afraid. I'm worried sick. I need to go looking for him."

"Jumping Jupiter! Go looking for him?" Moos adjusted his lenses. "It's the middle of winter, and you want to go trekking through the Raze, looking for a crypt that might or might not exist, and an effin person who might or might not be there, looking for said crypt? That's madness!"

Nika regarded him with icy stare. "No, Moos, madness is leaving a friend in need to an undeserved fate. I'm going up there to look for him, with or without you."

The gnome nearly choked on his ale. He slammed the mug down and wiped his mouth. "Who said I was going with you?"

The ranger grinned. "Oh, it's all right. I'll just go by myself. Don't worry about me. If I run into any frost giants, I'm sure I'll be able to take care of myself..."

"Damn everything under the sun!" cried the wizard. "I'm freezing cold as it is, and now you want me to go marching across the Gelid Wastes! May Jupiter blast me with lightning!"

"We couldn't be so lucky," laughed Nika. "I don't know what you're so worried about. You know I still have that magic wand you crafted for me on my eighteenth birthday. You won't be cold."

"I will so!" Moos glared like a gargoyle. "With or without the wand, I'm still cold! I'm always cold!"

"Then why in the Underworld did you settle in Wolf's End? Go south, where it's warmer! Or go back to Svirfheim. Isn't it nice and cozy there because of the geothermal vents? Why stay here, if you're so miserable?"

"I'll never go back to Svirfheim," growled the gnome. "That's why I came to Wolf's End in the first place, to get away from that shit hole! It's just not that easy, Nika! We've got three months of summer around these parts. By the time a gnome makes up his mind to go, gets packed up, and makes all the necessary preparations, bam! It's winter again! I've just...never gotten around to actually _doing_ it! But I will, one of these days. Mark my words, I'll leave this chunk of ice behind and never look back!"

"You've been saying that for fourteen years. You're too funny. Just admit it, Moos. You're never going to leave. You love it here, and you know it. You'll never leave. And I know why."

"Oh? Well, do tell, oh Sagacious One!"

Nika took a swig from her ale. "It's because you know, deep in your heart, that you would miss me too much!"

"That is simply just not true!" The gnome tugged furiously on his goatee. "You know that Lykke just doesn't like the cold! I can't take her outside in this weather!"

"But if you left in the summer, she wouldn't be cold," laughed the ranger.

"She would too! She's a spoiled little princess of a cat! It would be too much for her! I can't risk her health!"

"Excuses, excuses. One of these days, you'll admit to the truth. Now, if you don't want to go with me to look for Gavril, I guess I'll just have to ask Gant, if he's up to it."

"Well, you can ask him right now, because he just walked in."

The gnome regarded the newcomer with a puckered scowl. He was a tall, lanky human, with long, auburn hair that hung halfway down his back. His eyes were the color of winter ice, and his stern countenance just as friendly. He was clad in an outfit similar to Nika's, and across his back was strapped a great sword in a white leather scabbard. The gnome's lenses detected a swirling riot of many-colored auras emanating from the man. The only one he could ascribe to any specific object was the yellow glow of transformation that came from his sword. Gant never went anywhere without that sword. He wasn't allowed to. He was the son of Gallant Du Roche Grise, the Lord of Wolf's End, and like his father, a Knight of the Drake. The knights' signature weapon was the great sword, and they were required to carry their blade with them always.

The knights were a noble brotherhood going back thousands of years. Even they weren't sure of the exact date of the Order's founding. Only those with the blood of dragons in their veins were eligible to join this noble group, for they guarded fiercely the ancient secrets of dragon magic, and wielded it with great skill. Moos had seen what they could do firsthand. They were deadly warriors and even deadlier mages.

Moos thought of how proud, nervous, and excited the man had been on his eighteenth birthday, when he'd returned from his Ice Quest and been quickly inducted into the Order's Silver Wing. The knights of the Silver Wing emulated the abilities of the silver dragons, and it was a popular wing in Wolf's End, since the silver dragon's native habitat was the high, frigid mountains of this desolate region.

The gnome hadn't seen Gant for a quite a while after his induction. The knights had whisked him away to their bastion far to the south, to teach him everything he needed to know, both in sorcery and in combat. Gant never spoke about the secrets of the Order. He would only say that the knights had forbidden him to speak of it. The gnome was intensely curious about this dragon magic. It wasn't something that he, as a wizard, had ever come across in his arcane studies. From where did the knights draw their power? Moos had seen Gant work his magic. He made no gestures, spoke no arcane words, needed no material foci or components to call forth the energy. Was the magic innate, then? Did these knights truly have the blood of ancient dragons flowing through their veins? Moos had a hundred questions, and no answers. And that always made him cranky.

The knight shut the door behind him, a few of the patrons calling out warm greetings. He returned these, then glanced around the common room for his friends. Moos raised a gray hand, and the knight caught sight of him. He began edging through the crowd to reach them.

"Good," said Nika. "I know he won't give me a hard time about going. He's brave and bold..."

Moos shook his head, his lips curled in derision. "Idiots. Effin idiots. The lot of you. Serve you right if you _did _get eaten by a frost giant! I didn't say I was going, but I didn't effin say that I _wasn't_, either. If I let Du Roche Grise there get thumped by a giant, his father will have my head. So now I _have_ to go."

Nika laughed. "It'll most likely be worth your while, Moos. You're always looking for signs of the legendary Cold Magic, right? If there _is_ a tomb up there, it may contain treasure. A spellbook, a rimestaff, maybe even an icegem!"

"Or a twelve-headed hydra," sniffed the gnome. He glared into his empty mug, and wondered if it was worth trying to push through the noisy crowd to get to the bar.

"Good evening, m'lady," said Gant in his deep, resonant voice. "Good evening, Master Futtrup."

The knight sat down in a chair to Moos' left. "What news, friends? Has Gavril returned from the north?"

Nika shook her head. "No. I just got back from the Tyndi myself. He had stopped by there, but then pressed on to the Raze. They said he never came back that way, or at least, he didn't stop in Nokkrir."

Gant frowned and shook his head grimly. "This is ill news indeed. Gavril is never gone this long during winter. It was foolish of him to undertake this journey alone. I told him as much before he left. Why did he go? What was so intriguing about a crypt that Relkin claims she saw?"

"She claims more than just seeing it," said Nika. "She said that she discovered a secret door in the side of a rock, and when she went inside, she was attacked by undead. She scurried right out of there, but whatever glimpse she got of the place assured her that it was a tomb of some sort."

"Again, that doesn't tell me why Gavril went looking for it. A few undead pose no threat to Wolf's End, or any of the other settlements nearby."

"You've spent time with Gavril. A ranger wants to know what's going on in his backyard. Undead roaming the Wastes is not a good sign, by any means."

"Gah, they probably just wandered up from the Underworld, or something." Moos scowled, tugging on his long goatee. "Old Pluto's guard dog must be getting soft. Hel never would have let that happen."

"Hel is dead," said Gant. "Along with the other Aesir."

"Yes, the Lympans run the show now," sighed Moos. "And they aren't doing any better than the Aesir did. But at least they leave everyone alone, for the most part."

"I'm going to look for him." Nika stared into Gant's eyes. "Will you come with me?"

"Of course!" said the squire fervently. "I am at your service, as always!"

"Then we leave in the morning. The storm should abate by then, I think."

_Hopefully, it won't!_ thought the wizard. He groaned, and shook his head. "If Relkin made up this effin story about the crypt and the undead, I'm going to skin her alive! Somebody get me another drink."


End file.
